Pentagrams and Parasols
by Gabi-hime
Summary: The Grabiners spend an eventful week at the beach in Destin, Florida.


_**Pentagrams and Parasols**_

_Magical Diary_

_Hieronymous Grabiner x Heroine_

* * *

**Author's Note:** So here is an adorable family story, from me to you. Pentagrams and Parasols is a side story to Pentagrams and Pomegranates.

If you've ever wondered what Grabiner would be like as a father, here he is in all his glory, the best-worst-best father ever.

I never get tired of writing stories like these, and so I hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I wrote it on location, as it were, while on my own Florida vacation. The reason I felt I had to write this story is that sassy comment Grabiner makes during the game about going to Destin during spring break. I thought 'I'll show you!'

This is an AU story, because some things that happen during the course of Pentagrams and Pomegranates make this story quite impossible, however, I am not willing to indicate what things, as that's a spoiler. You're just going to have to read the main story to find out. I will say that it's probably not what you think, and leave it at that.

I'm also not going to tell you where Misha and Aleister come from, although they will be making their own appearances during the course of Pentagrams and Pomegranates. Intrepid readers will be able to do some math and make some guesses on their own, which I will neither confirm, nor deny. I really do love the both of them.

All and all, I think you can read this story cold, as it is not particularly difficult to understand. No prior knowledge of Pentagrams and Pomegranates is really necessary.

Just for your peace of mind, this story takes place in May of 2006. Amoretta has just finished her final term at Iris Academy. She's really closer to twenty than she is to nineteen, just as Aleister is closer to three than he is to two. Their birthdays are both in September.

And so, without further ado, I give you Pentagrams and Parasols.

* * *

It was a strange delegation that stood in the lobby of the Tropic Of Capricorn Hotel. The tallest member of the misbegotten group, the one who appeared to be nominally in charge, was perhaps the least unusual of the bunch. He was a lean gentleman in rolled up shirtsleeves and linen trousers, with a panama hat angled low so that it shaded his eyes. The sleek leather luggage that stood behind him on the marble floor of the lobby gave truth to the general impression that he came from money. Perhaps the most striking thing about his appearance, other than the fact that he was obviously wealthy, was his hair. His dark, curly hair came to just above his shoulders, and was tied back neatly in a ponytail. In this part of the world it was somewhat unusual to see a man with hair long enough to pull into a ponytail.

They were, of course, visiting the strange and weird empire that is the American South.

Besides the tall gentleman, who stood at the lobby's front desk, waiting patiently as the staff verified all sorts of utterly pointless information that left him feeling quite obviously put upon, there were three other people in the cool, glassed-in lobby, waiting for the check-in process to be completed. One cursory glance at the three of them made it patently clear why he had been left with the tedious chore of checking them in. Of the three other members of the gentleman-in-linen's party, none looked like they were over the age of eighteen.

There was a very small boy, perhaps two years old, whose dark, curly hair gave a clear indication of his parentage. He was dressed like a charming miniature of his father, in linen shorts and a pale blue short-sleeved oxford shirt. The little boy held firmly onto the hand of a very pale girl in a large sunhat, who was not quite five feet tall. The child was unusually silent and serious for a toddler, looking all around him with large, dark eyes that appeared black in the interior of the hotel lobby.

If the little boy was as quiet as a wraith, the third member of their party more than made up for his silence with her sound and activity. She was a bright little girl in a sundress the color of seaspray, with skin as dark as the other girl was pale, and ruddy marmalade colored hair that seemed almost ticked or striped with paler and darker bands of brown and blonde. She was all over the lobby, climbing over the furniture, peering out the large glass doors (and leaving small fingerprints as material evidence of her presence as plain as a sign that said 'Kilroy was here.'), examining the underside of the glossy leaves of the decorative plants that stood in huge clay pots at intervals, hoping to find bugs, and generally investigating everything, as if she were on safari.

The most remarkable thing about this little girl - besides her perpetual motion and mischief - is that no one took any notice of the fact that she had a tail - a long, striped orange marmalade tail - and a pair of furry ears that stood out from the sides of her head, flicking forward and backward as she raced around the lobby, deeply interested in everything.

It was as if no one noticed her ears and tail at all, despite the fact that a small, active cat girl was certainly something that ought to be showcased in Ripley's Believe-It-Or-Not (even had she not been in perpetual motion). There was no doubt that she would have made quite a successful boardwalk attraction.

The pale girl in the sunhat followed the scrambling cat girl closely with her eyes, and when the little girl sat down on her bottom and began attempting to struggle out of her sundress, she moved toward her, raising a petite hand.

"Misha," she said with a light tap of her heel to get the small girl's attention. "I know you've got your suit on under your dress, but you can't just take your clothes off in the lobby."

"But Mama," began the little girl in a winsome, wheedling tone, "Why not? Misha wants to go swimming. The lobby is booooooooooooooring."

"Wait until papa finishes checking us in. Then we'll go up to the room and get settled in," said the pale girl, who was apparently, and rather startlingly, the mother in this weird family. "After that I promise we'll go downstairs and you can swim as much as you like."

The little girl had begun earnestly playing with her toes, holding onto her feet and rocking back and forth. She had already abandoned her flip flops, which lay forlornly at her side. That wasn't particularly surprising. Misha hated wearing shoes when she didn't have to, much as she disliked wearing much in the way of clothing.

"Mama," she protested again, "Why not now? Why can't we go now?" Misha was a girl of the here and now, who hated to be delayed for any reason, and quite particularly if no reason at all was offered.

"Because Mama and Aleister need to put on sunblock before we go out to swim, or we'll burn. Misha needs to put some on too," the pale girl reminded evenly. "So Misha needs to be a good girl and wait patiently, so everyone can go together. You want papa to see when you go into the ocean for the first time, don't you?"

Misha tugged on her toes, rocking back and forth, and at last answered, "Yes, mama. All go together. Misha will be good."

"That's a good girl," the pale girl praised, leaning down to rub the little girl's head affectionately. Misha arched up to rub her head against her mother's hand, making a little trilling sound in her throat.

As she did, the man at the counter turned to look over his shoulder at his small family, particularly at the little girl whose tail swished back and forth along the marble floor of the lobby.

When he spoke, his voice was low and authoritative. He sounded like a man who was used to dealing with unruly children.

"Misha," he said, "If you don't stop rolling around on the floor and getting yourself filthy, I will see to it that you have a bath before you go down to the ocean."

The little girl looked horrified. "No bath, no bath!" she cried out, scrambling to her feet, and shaking all the imaginary dust off herself, because the lobby floor was quite clean, no matter what her father might have indicated to the contrary. She dashed over to the gentleman like a star of track and field, and tugged on his hand. "Papa, no bath, promise Misha," she begged.

The man folded her small brown hand in his own as his eyes flicked down to look at her briefly.

"Stand still and be quiet while I finish, and no more rolling around on the floor," he told her seriously.

She nodded and stood up positively ramrod straight.

The pale girl picked up the little boy and sat him on her hip before approaching the counter. Sensing that she had come up behind him, the man glanced briefly over his shoulder.

"They're just getting the keys and tags in order. They've put us on the ninth floor, and we have an ocean view, as requested. We have a balcony," he said, and then his eyes briefly flicked down to the small girl again. She was now climbing on the brass bar that ran around the bottom of the front desk, still hanging onto her father's hand. He turned his attention back to the girl with the child. "We had best have another talk with Misha about being properly respectful of dangerous heights. The last thing I want to do on this vacation is have to scrape her up off the pavement after she falls from the ninth floor."

The small girl looked up, suddenly interested in the conversation. "Misha doesn't fall," she said importantly. "Misha _jumps_."

"Whether you jump or you fall, you'll still make the same smear on the tile near the swimming pool," Grabiner noted dryly.

The clerk who was checking him in laughed, and it was clear she was trying to cover some mild discomfort over Grabiner's attitude toward his daughter taking a half-gainer into cement from a hotel balcony. "All the balconies are child safe," she assured him. "Your children ought to be fine so long as they're supervised."

"You don't know my children," Grabiner answered grimly, and the clerk laughed again, a bit awkwardly.

"I can try and change you to an interior room, but all the ocean views have balconies," the clerk began, "So you'd have to give that up. We do have some interior vacancies - "

"Absolutely not," Grabiner said shortly, and with some decision. "I am relatively confident the child will not fling herself to her death. She's got to learn some time that it's dangerous to get on the foul side of gravity," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I didn't come to the seaside for a _courtyard _view, how preposterous - "

"Misha hates gravity," the little girl announced, letting go of her father's hand to pat along the outside rim of the desk she could not see over.

Amoretta unceremoniously dumped the little boy into his father's arms and suggested, "Why don't you all go look at the swimming pool? I'm sure it's _very interesting_," she suggested, giving Grabiner a firm push on the back to direct him out of the lobby and away from the distressed clerk. "I'll make sure the luggage gets up to the rooms safely."

"Swimming pool! Swimming pool!" Misha began to chant happily, bouncing up and down in place.

Reluctantly, Grabiner moved off toward the glass doors that led to the outdoor swimming area, pausing once to look over his shoulder.

"You're sure you can handle this?" he asked somewhat dubiously.

"Of course I can," she said, busily waving them off, but then she paused, reminding, "Don't take Aleister into the sun until he's put on sunscreen. He'll bake like a potato."

Grabiner nodded and then glanced down at the little girl, who was still bouncing in place, her tail waving wildly.

"Get your shoes," he commanded. "The pavement outside will be hot."

She did as she was told and as the three of them disappeared out the glass doors, Amoretta could just hear Grabiner speaking aloud, apparently to Misha.

"Why you enjoy swimming is beyond me, considering how much you hate baths - "

"No bath, papa! You promised Misha no bath - "

And then the door swung closed behind them.

Amoretta let out a relieved sigh and swept the large hat off her head. Turning back to the clerk, she accepted their keys and cards easily, tapping her sandaled foot lightly behind her. She glanced sidelong out the wall of glass, where she could see her husband standing well in the shade as he watched the little girl running around harum-scarum, sometimes on two legs, sometimes scrambling along on her hands as well, her little tail sticking out behind her.

Amoretta was unsurprised when the little girl went 'accidentally' headlong into the deep end of pool, sundress and all. It wasn't that terrible a tragedy, as Misha was already an olympic class swimmer, but it certainly upset the gentleman who was in charge of her. Amoretta sighed again as she watched her husband racing to the edge of the pool where he hauled the soaking girl out, all while keeping the little boy on his hip. His hat went into the water while he was fishing the little girl out, and then he nearly fell in himself when he tried to get it out.

The clerk looked somewhat worried and wondered aloud whether or not Amoretta ought to go to them.

"No, it's all right," she said with a wave of her hand. "He's got it under control." And then she confided a secret with a smile as she swept on her hat again. "It's basically always like this."

Then she turned easily to the bellboy, who stood patiently nearby with the luggage rack loaded with neatly matched pieces of luggage and a folded up stroller and waved the key to their suite triumphantly.

"Let's go," she said, "He's only going to be able to manage so long on his own."

* * *

"Misha can't go into the water without papa," Amoretta patiently explained to the small bundle of energy who now sat in the white sand, kicking her feet.

"Why can't Misha go by herself?" asked the little cat girl, whose two piece bathing suit's brilliant turquoise color was in vivid contrast to her dark skin and marmalade-colored hair.

"Because the undertow will drag her out to sea and she will drown in a most gruesome manner," Grabiner interjected from where he sat in a rented beach chair. "No more Misha," he finished. "Eaten by sea worms."

"_Hieronymous_!" Amoretta chastised, for Misha's tail had become as bristly as a bottle brush at her father's morbid description of her untimely death. She sighed as she rolled her eyes. "Because of the yellow flag," Amoretta explained, pointing to the bright yellow flags that waved in the brisk wind at various points along the beach. "The yellow flag means it's dangerous for little girls to go into the surf by themselves."

Although the yellow flag was up, it was hard to imagine a more picturesque day. The sun shone brightly, but it was neither too hot nor too cold. The vividly blue sky was dotted by fluffy white cirrus clouds, and the nearby ocean glimmered warm and emerald, while the depths rolled, ultramarine and mysterious. It was just the sort of vacation scenario that inspired her to solve some beach-related mysteries, like discovering lost pirate treasure, or foiling international art thieves.

Her daughter, though, had more immediate concerns.

"Papa will come?" Misha asked, chewing thoughtfully on one of her fingers. It was clear that she was not altogether hopeful that he would.

Amoretta looked over her shoulder to where her husband sat under their parasol with Aleister and an open picture book on his lap. He glanced up at the little girl, who was watching him so expectantly.

"I'll come," he assured her, "For a while, at least. But play in the surf by yourself until I'm ready," he said. "Get your feet wet, collect some sea shells," he suggested, "But don't get into the water above your ankles, young lady."

"Yes, papa," the little girl answered obediently, and tried to look very still and good, but her actively swishing tail clearly gave away her wily, mischievous nature.

Amoretta finished slathering up Misha with sunblock and sent her to play in the surf with a small net.

"Misha will catch the dinner!" the little girl cried, waving the net over her head.

"Good luck!" Amoretta called after her.

Grabiner snapped his fingers idly. "Kavus, watch her," he said to the empty air.

The djinn did not appear on the beach amid the sunbathers and vacationing families, which was for the best, but Amoretta knew he was there, even if he was unseen. Amoretta was grateful that the manus was there to stand as lookout. Misha required two pairs of eyes on her at all times.

With one child properly protected from the sun and gainfully occupied building beach memories, she went to collect the serious little toddler, who was as pale as paper, just as she was.

Grabiner closed the picture book and watched Amoretta as she very carefully and patiently covered every inch of the small boy in sunblock that made him seem even whiter than his normal ghostly pallor.

"This isn't very inspired reading material," he said, waving the picture book in Amoretta's direction. "It's all about this small dog who goes to the beach, apparently all on his own, and it's got more exhaustive checklists of necessary beach goods than the Swiss Family Robinson."

"Well, what do you suggest we read to him? He's a bit young for Treasure Island, don't you think?" Amoretta asked with a laugh as she adjusted the sun hat on the small boy's head. In the light of day it was clear that his eyes were not black, but instead were a clear and deep indigo.

"I'll read him Captain Blood," Grabiner said decisively. "No child is too young for Sabatini. Considering the family he belongs to, it's never too early to teach him about corsairs and vagabonds."

"Stand and deliver!" threatened Amoretta with a flourish, waving the little boy's hat around as if it might have been a pistol or a rapier.

"That's what a highwayman says, not a pirate, you dolt," Grabiner said affectionately.

The small, pale boy reached up and took the hat from Amoretta's hands, placing it rather lopsidedly on his head.

"Stand and deliver," he repeated gravely.

Amoretta clapped her hands. "Oh, I'm sure Grandpapa would love to hear you say that," she laughed.

"What a little fiend," commented Grabiner, his mouth turned up at the corner.

Grabiner fished the volume of Sabatini out of his bag and opened it thoughtfully, scanning the opening lines.

"It seems perfectly acceptable reading for a child to me," he announced.

"Just try to read it to Misha," Amoretta dared him with a wry smile.

"Misha won't sit still enough to discover the surprise twist ending of Jack and Jill," Grabiner said, rolling his eyes. "I have little faith that she will suddenly develop enough patience to listen to me read a book without pictures in it, no matter how much murder, mayhem, and piracy it contains."

"Well then, why not read aloud to the both of us?" she suggested, carefully arranging a number of brightly colored sand buckets and shovels around the little boy, who studied them earnestly. "You have the voice for it, and maybe Misha will come and listen for a little while, once she gets tired of - " Amoretta paused and looked over her shoulder at the little girl, who was chasing the waves as they rolled out, and then racing up the beach again as they came back up after her, whooping and shrieking all the way, "Doing whatever it is she's doing."

All at once, Misha ran up like a little dervish, and demanded, "Papa, what makes the waves chase Misha?"

Amoretta answered immediately, without thinking. "The moon," she said, and the little girl's tail swished in response.

Grabiner shook his head, and then leaned forward. "Let me explain it," he said seriously to the little girl, who flopped down on her bottom to listen what was bound to be a careful and detailed explanation of wave action. "Your mother is correct. The pull of the moon's gravity is what causes tidal activity, and the tide does come in and roll out. Waves, however, do not really move." He paused and pointed out to sea. "Out there, where the water is deep, the wave goes up and down, in place." He made a motion with one of his hands simulating the way the wave moved in place. "That pushes the water toward the shore, which is why it seems to chase you up the beach, but the wave itself doesn't move forward or backward, simply up and down." He repeated the motion with his hand.

Misha was apparently satisfied with this answer, because she nodded several times, as if assimilating information, and then was up and off to play in the surf again.

"Thank you papa!" she called out over her shoulder.

Amoretta watched with pleasure as Misha raced off to play on the wet sand, then turned to Grabiner.

"Read to us?" she prompted, putting a small orange shovel into the little boy's hands.

"Very well," Grabiner said evenly, and after Amoretta got Aleister carefully situated, he began reading the thrilling adventures of Dr. Peter Blood to the two of them, while they both played in the shade of the parasol.

* * *

Although Grabiner read aloud to the two of them for some time, while Amoretta and Aleister industriously built a sandcastle that leaned rather precariously to one side, eventually he chose to rest his voice. As expected, when she realized that something interesting was going on under the parasol, Misha reappeared with her empty net.

"Misha did not catch any crabs," she confessed as she flopped down on a beach blanket.

"You catch them at nighttime, kitten," Amoretta said with an affectionate smile. "So I'm really not surprised that you didn't catch any."

"But what will mama and papa and Misha and Aleister eat for dinner?" Misha asked raising her hands to tug on her large ears in consternation. Apparently, she had depended upon being the breadwinner of the family, and having failed, felt her responsibility very heavily.

"It's all right," Amoretta comforted her. "Papa will take us out to eat crabs."

"Lots and lots of crabs?" Misha asked hopefully.

"As many crabs as you like," Grabiner answered absently, without looking up from his book.

"Misha will eat a hundred crabs," the little girl promised.

"Well," said Grabiner a bit dubiously. "We'll see."

After a little time sunning herself on the beach blanket, Misha became interested in the sandcastle Amoretta and Aleister were building with the aid of his nesting buckets. Unwilling to stay in the shade of the parasol, she moved a few feet away, into the open sun, and began digging in the sand as industriously as a terrier, so it fairly flew behind her.

"Misha," Amoretta said, clapping her hands lightly to get the little girl's attention. "What did I tell you about space and personal boundaries?"

Misha sat down on her bottom and thought about it for a minute.

"Should check behind?" she asked after considering the problem carefully.

Amoretta nodded seriously. "Did you check behind before you started digging?"

"No!" Misha announced immediately, because that was a question she knew the answer to. Misha was nothing if not truthful.

"Oughtn't you?" Amoretta suggested, covering her mouth with her hand so Misha would hopefully not notice her smile.

"Yes?" Misha asked, as if still unsure of the answer.

"Yes," Amoretta answered with a serious nod.

Misha nodded back seriously, then got to her feet and turned around fully, carefully looking behind her. Fortunately, there was no one there, or else they'd have already been more lost in the sand than the stele commemorating Ozymandias.

Satisfied, Misha turned gravely back around.

"No one is there," she told her mother.

"Good," Amoretta said with another nod. "Now go ahead and dig as much as you want."

Misha's tail swished happily as she began digging earnestly in the sand again. After she had dug quite a sizeable hole and looked very pleased with herself, a thought occurred to Amoretta.

"Misha, why are you digging that hole?" she asked.

"Make a potty," Misha answered glibly.

Amoretta could not keep herself from bursting out with laughter at this revelation.

Misha cocked her head to one side, clearly confused.

As Amoretta finally got ahold of herself, she shook her head, running a hand through her dark hair.

"Darling, you can't just go potty on the beach," she said. "I'll take you back up to the hotel, so you can use the bathroom there."

"Already dug a hole!" Misha protested. "A nice big hole!"

"It's a splendid hole," Amoretta agreed, brushing her fingertips across her forehead. "But you can't go to the potty on the beach. It isn't polite."

"Just think what a buried treasure that would be," Grabiner remarked dryly from where he sat, reading his book.

"_Hieronymous_," Amoretta complained, laughing.

"People wouldn't like it?" Misha asked, confused. She had sat down on her bottom again, and her tail was swishing as she thought it over. "But Misha buries it. Burying it is polite."

"Yes, my darling," Amoretta said, "I suppose it is. You are very thoughtful, but you still can't make a potty on the beach. Come on," she said as she got to her feet. "I'll take you up to the bathroom in the hotel."

Amoretta departed to take Misha to the toilet, and when she returned, she found that Aleister had crawled into Grabiner's lap and fallen sound asleep there, his little hat covering his face. Grabiner raised one finger to silently place it beside his nose as the two girls approached, Aleister asleep in the crook of one of his arms and Captain Blood still open on his lap. Amoretta nodded once at him and took Misha by the hand to walk up the beach a ways, where she would be less likely to disturb the baby's sleep with her active and vocal exploration of the beach.

A line of birds flew by overhead and Misha threw her hands up at them.

"Mama, mama, what's that?" she demanded, pointing.

"What are those," Amoretta corrected patiently, because certainly Grabiner was always correcting Misha's sometimes unique usage of the English language. She looked up, shading her eyes with her hat and announced, "Brown pelicans. I bet they're going fishing. They dive down into the water from the sky and catch fish in their throat pouches," Amoretta announced, miming the motion with her hands.

Misha watched the birds with some interest, and clapped her hands excitedly when one dove into the water, and then surfaced, shortly thereafter.

"Look mama!" she cried happily, "Pelican caught a fish!" She paused thoughtfully, with one finger against her lips. "Do you think Misha could catch a fish like that?" she asked.

"No," Amoretta said, shaking her head. "Probably not, even if she practiced very hard."

Misha's face fell as she studied the birds gracefully diving into the water and catching their dinners so effortlessly.

"But," Amoretta continued, ruffling the little girl's hair, "You can still catch fish, even if you can't catch them like a pelican, and there are lots of other things you can do besides that, because you're Misha. A pelican can only ever be a pelican, but Misha can be lots and lots of different things."

"But not a pelican?" she asked pensively, chewing on the tip of her finger.

"Even a pelican," Amoretta laughed, rubbing her head. "But you'll have to study very hard and for a very long time to learn a shape changing spell like that. Mama can't do it."

Misha considered her mother the center of the universe. If Amoretta could not do it, then the little girl was certain that it was impossible.

She shook her head.

"Misha is Misha," she announced, and seemed to be happy leaving it at that.

* * *

That night, as had been promised, the Grabiners went out to eat crabs.

As Amoretta sat swinging her feet idly under the table, she assisted Aleister in coloring the saucy pirate on the coloring page that had been brought to the table. Misha had already adroitly colored her pirate in, and he was as colorful as a rainbow, with fluorescent pink hair and green skin. Grabiner got no small amount of amusement out of the fact that Misha chose to label her uniquely colored pirate 'Grandpapa,' in her tipsy, uneven script.

"I'm not really sure who we ought to send that to," he confessed, "My mother, or my father."

"Let's send it to your father," Amoretta suggested, then laughed weakly. "I have a hard time imagining what your mother would do with it."

"Cackle madly and then have a tapestry woven after it?" Grabiner hazarded.

"Probably," Amoretta agreed, "And I'd rather not touch off some sort of international incident over crayon-colored pirate pictures. Let's just be on the safe side and send it to Aloysius."

Grabiner thought about it, and Amoretta could see he was still seriously debating sending the pirate picture to his mother, but then he apparently decided it was not worth the hassle, and nodded in agreement.

When the crab came to the table Amoretta took charge of cracking and arranging small slivers of crab for the youngest Grabiner, while the serious professor very patiently taught Misha how to crack the shellfish herself, and to fish the small slivers of crab out with a small fork. He frowned at Amoretta, who was eating the snowy white crab flesh with her fingers.

"Don't eat like a savage," he said, waving his hand at her dismissively. "Humanity invented forks for a reason," he gestured to her own shellfish fork, which up until now, had remained untouched. "The waitstaff did not put that on the table simply as decoration, Amoretta."

"Not decoration," Aleister repeated his father very gravely, picking up a piece of crab between his thumb and forefinger and putting it decorously into his mouth.

"But I am a savage!" Amoretta protested with a laugh.

This caused Misha to raise her shellfish fork high over her head and declare "Savage!" excitedly.

Grabiner silently crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair, watching Amoretta appraisingly.

"No!" Amoretta sat decisively, pointing a pale finger at her daughter. "Do as your father says!"

"But Misha wants to be a savage like mama!" the little girl insisted, waving her fork.

Amoretta sighed and considered her shellfish fork.

She felt three pairs of eyes on her heavily, particularly those of her small son, who was still daintily putting silvers of crab in his mouth.

"Mama will use her fork," Amoretta said, picking up her shellfish fork.

"Then Misha will use her fork," the little girl agreed happily, and then very carefully mimicked the motions Grabiner had taught her with at least partial success. He praised her, patting her head until she trilled, and then cracked another claw open for her, returning to patiently attempting to teach her appropriate table manners. Grabiner glanced sidelong at his wife from time to time, as if to be certain she was continuing to use her shellfish fork, as promised.

Even Aleister picked up a spare shellfish fork from the table, but he really seemed at a loss for what to do with it, since he was not coordinated enough to spear any crab with it.

"It's all right, little bit," she soothed, relieving him of the pointy object. "You have plenty of time to learn."

* * *

Once Misha had heard that small crabs could be located on the beach after dark, nothing could dissuade her from going out in an attempt to catch some with her little net. Grabiner went out with her, carrying a flashlight just for appearances, although he did not require it to bring a light. Amoretta remained in their rooms, bathing Aleister, and then putting him to bed.

When Misha and Grabiner returned to the room, Misha had a number of small red marks on her face, although she looked well-pleased with herself.

"Your daughter," Grabiner said dryly, "Attempted to eat some fiddler crabs we found, and was pinched for her trouble."

"Misha caught a lot of crabs, mama," the little girl bragged happily.

Amoretta raised an eyebrow. "Yes, so your father tells me," she said.

"But mama," Misha said very seriously, "Crabs are hard to eat."

"Yes, kitten," Amoretta agreed, rubbing the little girl between her ears, "That is why we cook them first."

* * *

Later that week, the four of them sat around the table in their suite, playing Scrabble. The glass doors to the balcony were open, letting in the sound and smell of the surf, while the sun set very picturesquely, gilding the ocean orange.

"Tropic of Capricorn indeed," Grabiner was complaining as he pushed the letters around on his little shelf. "The Tropic of Capricorn isn't even on this side of the equator. I suppose no one thought to consult a map before naming this hotel."

Aleister was seated in his lap, and Grabiner was playing two turns in a row, his own, and then a turn for Aleister. who mainly contributed by pointing at letters he liked. He was a great fan of the letter 'M.' By strategically playing two turns at once, Grabiner had at least some chance of combating Amoretta's obscene luck.

"I suppose people don't normally consider what the word 'tropic' really means," Amoretta commented mildly. She was leaning across the table to assist Misha, who was perfectly capable of playing simple words on her own, although her vocabulary was primarily food-related. "I imagine they just chose the name because they thought it sounded good. Most people aren't going to know the difference."

"Yes," he answered blandly, "I know. The citizens of this country are neither particularly well-educated nor culturally aware."

"Maybe we ought to have gone to an English beach then," Amoretta retorted, sticking her tongue out.

"Only if you wanted this vacation to be an exercise in disappointments," Grabiner said shortly. "English beaches are grey and shelly and generally depressing, the sort of place you take an invalid to recover from tuberculosis." He paused as he played a word: 'funeral.' "Only they don't recover. They just die. That's how disappointing the beaches are."

Grabiner played 'veins' for Aleister.

"That's very tragic," Amoretta noted, pillowing her face on her hand.

She played 'quetzals' on a triple word score for a hundred and twenty-five points.

Grabiner didn't even comment. He had played enough games of Scrabble with Amoretta to have learned to take such things in stride.

Misha played 'hotdog.' It wasn't worth very many points, but it was a word that made her happy.

* * *

Of course, besides the beach, there were many other interesting things to do at the seaside, and Amoretta was set upon having Aleister and Misha try them all out, at least once. For her part, Misha seemed disturbingly interested in parasailing, and Grabiner was relieved to find that state law prohibited children of Misha's age from attempting such a thing.

But still, there were an awful lot of other things to do. Before the week was out, Misha, Aleister, and Amoretta had all petted baby nurse sharks, fed dolphins, ridden a huge observation wheel, and been on a cruise around the sound on a small boat.

But when Amoretta and Misha had spied the large water park set back from the beach by several blocks, it had become clear that they had not yet done all they needed to do. On had gone their swimsuits, and four tickets had been bought, and four Grabiners had experienced Davey Jones' Water Park together.

Aleister was really too small to go on any of the slides, and was quite content to play in the shallow kiddie pools among the sprinklers with Grabiner. Grabiner was not the sort of man who would have ever elected to go to a water park if left to his own devices, but seemed to enjoy himself well enough playing with the little boy.

Amoretta took Misha on half a dozen slides until the little girl decided she would rather play in the sprinklers with her father and her brother, and Amoretta took a well-deserved break in a chair underneath a parasol. After a while, Aleister was brought and deposited in her lap, and she wrapped him up in her towel. Misha had managed to cajole Grabiner into agreeing to take her on yet more slides, and he came to Amoretta's chair to inform her of this decision, then departed with the little girl hanging onto his hand.

Aleister was quite content to sit on her lap, wrapped up in the towel. On the long staircase up to the top of a slide, Amoretta spied Misha leaning over the railing and waving enthusiastically, while Grabiner struggled to pull her back and put her two feet solidly on the ground. Amoretta waved happily back, and then pointed them out to Aleister, who also politely waved, and then commenced to chew on one of his fingers. Amoretta fished in her little bag and gave him some slices of apple to eat.

Beside her, another mother who sat watching two of her own children playing in the sprinkler park, asked pleasantly, "Your husband is English?"

"Expatriate," Amoretta answered mildly, munching on one of Aleister's apple slices herself.

"And where are you all from?" asked the mother with a very pronounced southern drawl. "We're from Alabama," she volunteered, "Just outside of Birmingham."

Before Amoretta could answer, Aleister had said simply, "Fairyland," and then fallen silent again.

"Isn't he just _precious_," the mother declared, clapping her hands. "I could just eat him up."

Aleister looked somewhat startled, as if he considered her declaration a real and present danger, and sidled up closer to his mother, hiding in the towel.

Amoretta grimaced slightly, patting Aleister on the back through the towel.

"We're from Vermont," she corrected.

"Why it must be just like a fairy land sometimes," the Alabama mother said pleasantly. "Up there in those Green Mountains."

"Yes," agreed Amoretta with a laugh, "It really, really is."

The woman had turned her head to observe one of the slides, and Amoretta had to cover her face as she laughed, because Grabiner and Misha had somehow come down the slide backwards, their little float tumbling end over end as they hit the splash pool. Grabiner, apparently entirely unphased by what was a regular and expected outcome of any experience involving Misha, scooped the little girl out of the splash pool, and put the float under his other arm. When he put her down on the ground, she was already pulling him excitedly off in another direction. Amoretta could see that he was saying something to her gravely, but whatever it was that he said apparently delighted her, because she hopped up and down, clapping her hands.

"Your husband is really wonderful with children," the Alabama mother said admiringly.

"He's really wonderful with everyone," Amoretta corrected with a laugh. "It's just not immediately obvious."

* * *

After a day at the water park, Amoretta resolved that they all ought to play miniature golf. As it was not yet five o'clock in the afternoon, Grabiner agreed, although he warned both his wife and his daughter that if they played miniature golf together, he intended to do so very seriously.

Although not necessarily particularly interested in the golf aspect of the activity, Misha was very interested in the large metal dinosaurs and the comically small houses that dotted the little greens.

Amoretta amused the children as Grabiner bought the tickets.

The clerk quoted him a price, and Grabiner paused, his wallet already drawn.

"That isn't right," he said.

The attendant's brows drew together in confusion. "Yes, it is," he disagreed.

"It isn't," Grabiner insisted. "It isn't enough."

Patiently the attendant pointed to the printed list that was under hard, clear plastic on the counter.

"One adult," he counted, "And three children."

Grabiner put his hand down a bit harder on the counter than he had intended, and it made a smart snapping sound.

"Two adults," he said, "And two children."

The attendant shrugged and pointed at Amoretta. "She's close enough to twelve that I'll give her the children's rate," he said.

Of course, it was an understandable mistake. Amoretta was less than five feet tall, and she had absolutely no breasts to speak of. But this was a sore spot, and Grabiner was not feeling charitable.

"That," he said very seriously between gritted teeth, "Is my wife. She is nineteen."

The attendant was so started he leaned completely out the window of his little booth to regard Amoretta.

"Are you sure?" he asked Grabiner, astonished.

"Yes," Grabiner answered, and his sarcasm fairly dripped as he exhibited all the best of his social graces, "I am relatively certain," he paused, before continuing with some venom, "_Being that she is my wife._"

He raised his hand over his head and snapped his fingers, immediately drawing Amoretta's attention.

"Please bring your ID over here," he said grimly.

Amoretta, confused about why she might have to prove her age to play miniature golf, still obediently brought the ID over. The attendant checked it - all the while staring quite pointedly at her chest, or lack thereof - and at last verified what Grabiner had told him previously.

"Two adults," he said, "And two children."

* * *

Once the payment for the rental of the putters had been finally completed, Amoretta, Grabiner, and Misha all carried their short, neon colored clubs out onto the eighteen hole miniature golf course. Grabiner had rented a comically small putter for Aleister, but the boy wasn't particularly interested in attempting to swing it. He sat patiently in his stroller, his sunhat pulled so that it shaded his eyes, and watched the rest of his family golf.

Misha had never held any sort of golf club before, not even the toy putters that were often part of toddler yard game assortments, so Grabiner and Amoretta took some time instructing her in how to hold it and swing it safely. Grabiner allowed her four practice putts before he began counting strokes, which he said was a very generous margin.

After that he began counting strokes as if they might have been participating in a Masters tournament, instead of trying to putt dayglo balls underneath small windmills.

Amoretta scored a hole in one on the first easy hole, and she clapped her hands happily as Grabiner noted down her stroke count. This seemed to cause him to become even more grim and determined. He resettled his hat on his head, studied the layout of the hole very carefully, and managed to sink the ball in two strokes, at one under par.

Poor Misha, who was very excited and yet not very experienced, finally got the ball in after seven strokes, two of which caused the ball to roll backward instead of forward. Grabiner noted her strokes with the gravity of a judge.

"Hieronymous," Amoretta chided, "It's only her first hole. You don't have to count all her strokes."

Grabiner brandished the grip of his putter at his wife, as if it might have been a pointer he used while giving a lecture.

"I warned the both of you that if I played miniature golf, then I would do so seriously," he reminded, and Amoretta shrugged helplessly.

"It's all right mama," Misha comforted her. "Misha will win and show papa."

Grabiner sank down on his heels so he could look directly into the little girl's face.

"Just try it," he threatened, and her tail puffed up like a bottle brush again.

Over the course of their eighteen holes of miniature golf, Misha investigated every small house in hopes of discovering gnomes, but she generally found only crickets or small spiders hiding inside them. Grabiner insisted that his wife and his daughter play every hole to completion, no matter how many penalty strokes they racked up, and this became challenging for Amoretta on the seventh hole, where she sent herself into the same water hazard more than twenty times. It seemed that miniature golf required more skill than it did luck. Grabiner played each hole with great concentration, carefully scouting it before placing his ball and taking his strokes. He was entirely unsurprised when Misha leaped out from behind a bush to shout 'boo' at him when he was taking a shot on the twelfth hole. In fact, he was so unruffled by all her attempts to startle him, that at last she tired of trying and just did her best to sink her own balls.

In the end, Amoretta finished the game with a hundred and fifteen strokes over par, while Misha managed ninety seven over. Grabiner finished at eight under par, and as he calmly turned in the clubs to the attendant after they had at last finished the eighteenth hole, Misha sat down on her bottom and began to cry in earnest, because she found the world to be a very unfair place.

Amoretta touched her husband's arm in mild distress.

"Hieronymous," she said, "You've made Misha cry."

"That's all right," he answered philosophically. "Crying is good for her."

But despite this flippant reply, he went over to the little girl, who was rubbing at her eyes, and sank down to his heels again to speak with her.

"Feeling pretty miserable about losing, aren't you?" he asked her.

Misha nodded, rubbing at her ears with her balled up fists.

"Then practice," he suggested, "So next time you don't lose."

And then before she could answer he had picked her up and swung her up to his shoulder. She took his hat off and put it on her own head and soon forgot the misery of being beaten so badly at miniature golf, and they all had a leisurely stroll back to the Tropic of Capricorn Hotel, with Amoretta pushing the stroller behind them.

* * *

On Thursday it was a bit overcast, and feeling somewhat overstimulated by all the vacationing they had so far experienced, Amoretta and Grabiner elected to spend most of the day in their rooms. They ordered room service in, and all four of the Grabiners lay together in the somewhat sandy king size bed that stood in the master bedroom, watching black and white movies on the television that was mounted on the wall.

It was a particular treat for the children, who otherwise never had the experience of watching television. It was the first time that either of them had really watched any television at length.

Amoretta lay propped up on a pile of pillows, her head on Grabiner's shoulder, munching on a liverwurst sandwich. Aleister sat between the two of them, very carefully eating baby carrots. Misha ate tuna fish and surreptitiously asked for bites of Grabiner's sandwich.

They were halfway through their second movie when Misha announced, "Papa is the man," she mimed wearing glasses, "Mama is the lady," she continued, "And Misha is the big cat."

"It's a leopard," corrected Grabiner, then thought about it appraisingly.

"Misha is the leopard," Misha repeated, with a nod.

Amoretta laughed. "Well then," she asked curiously, "Who is Aleister?"

"Baby leopard," Misha said decisively, and Amoretta laughed again.

"I can't really disagree with that," Grabiner said with a wry smile. "Your mother blustered into my life like an uninvited hurricane, and brought two little leopards with her."

"Papa," Misha said importantly, tugging at his sleeve so that he would lower his chicken sandwich so she could have a bite of it. "Hurricanes are always uninvited."

That afternoon, during the customary bathing hour, Amoretta spent most of the time singing 'I Can't Give You Anything But Love,' to Misha and Aleister, until Misha picked up the tune herself, and they both sang it together.

The next day, as their vacation wound down to a close, Amoretta got it into her head that they had to go souvenir shopping. As far as Grabiner could tell, they had had basically every kind of fun that was available to be had in the beach town, and so now Amoretta was scraping the bottom of the barrel.

He was less than enthusiastic about shopping for awful beach souvenirs, most of which seemed to be cheap t-shirts with obscene messages airbrushed on them, but Amoretta was bound and determined that they have the full vacation experience, and so she dragged him into one store after another.

These stores were all in large, square cinder block buildings, with awful murals painted on their sides, mostly featuring individuals with unnaturally orange skin engaged in appropriate beach activities, like swimming, or playing volleyball. Inaccurate depictions of sea life were also a popular theme of the murals, with sea turtles larger than buses and highlighted with shocking pink being the most common choice of illustration other than orange human beings.

The insides of these shops were mostly as one might expect them to be: filled with the worst kitschy beach knickknacks that money could buy and acres and acres of ill-fitting t-shirts and short shorts. Amoretta stood amid the shelves and shelves of upsetting merchandise and held up a shirt for him to consider.

It was an arresting shade of pink and proclaimed '1 Hawt Mama' on it in bold letters.

"Don't you think we ought to get this for P. P.?" she asked with a laugh, and before Grabiner could naysay her, she had dumped it into her shopping basket.

This touched off a shopping spree, as Amoretta frolocked amid the heinous t-shirts and selected awful gifts for every person in the state of Vermont.

Amoretta was considering a navy blue t-shirt with the words 'Book Worm' printed on it, with an arrow pointing down, when Grabiner at last caught up with her again.

"If you buy that for Ellen, I can assure you that she will throw it into a fire," he said, and taking a second look at it, Amoretta had to agree, and returned it to the shelf.

It was about this time that Misha came up with a highly distressed look on her face, and dragged all three of them over to look at the kitschy knick knacks, where she pointed up to a tall shelf. On this shelf were a number of baby sharks preserved in antifreeze blue formaldehyde as a very gruesome souvenir. Amoretta frowned and looked away.

When Aleister saw them, he buried his face against Amoretta's shoulder and held onto her tightly as he began to cry, a thin wail of utter despair.

Misha was already sniffling herself.

"Mama," she was crying, "Papa, what if they took Misha away from mama and papa and put her in a jar?"

"No one will take you away from us," Grabiner said quietly, leaning down to pick the little girl up. He held her against his shoulder and slowly rubbed her back as she clung to his neck. "I would never allow it," he said.

Misha sniffled and rubbed at her face with a balled up fist.

"Mama says," she began with a sniffle, "Mama told Misha 'papa always comes,' that if Misha is in trouble, papa will come."

"That's right," Grabiner agreed seriously, patting the overwrought little girl on the back. "Papa always comes."

And so no souvenirs were bought after all.

* * *

On their final day in the seaside town, they spent their time leisurely strolling along the boardwalk, stopping to shop at less dubious places of business when the mood struck them, the children enjoying frozen ice pops that half melted over their hands in the warm afternoon sun.

When Grabiner paused to kiss his wife in the shade of palm tree, Misha was on the scene in a moment, although previously she had been quite occupied watching a man fishing with a long sea fishing pole.

"Misha is telling Nellen!" she crowed.

"Tell Ellen all you like," said her father with a shrug, sticking his hands idly into his pockets. "Take pictures as evidence," he suggested.

Misha was delighted by this suggestion and was soon begging her mother for the use of the family's camera, which had been so far been judiciously used to produce a large number of photographs of their eventful vacation, primarily for the benefit of the many grandparents and assorted aunts-and-uncles-by-proxy.

Amoretta was unwilling to let the little girl have charge of such a costly device, and so Misha had to content herself with drawing a picture of the event with crayons on another placemat, when they stopped for lunch. This illustration of her parents she very importantly labeled 'for Ellen,' so there could be no mistake.

Amoretta laughed into the back of her hand as they waited for their fried fish.

"I'm sure Ellen's going to be pleased to get that souvenir," she predicted.

"I hope she frames it and hangs it on the wall," Grabiner remarked dryly.

* * *

As the sun began to dip low over the western horizon, the small family of four strolled out along an old wooden pier, and Misha thrilled as the surf broke against the sturdy wooden pilings.

Amoretta kept one of Misha's hands in hers at all times, lest the little girl fling herself into the ocean, and Grabiner idled along ahead of the two of them, carrying Aleister on his shoulders. When he reached the end of the pier, he and Aleister stopped, and Grabiner stood, absently studying the waves, apparently lost in thought.

When Misha and Amoretta at last joined him at the end of the pier, Amoretta was surprised as he began humming.

She laughed as she realized what he was humming, because that was the sort of man he was, determined to be as stubborn and contrary as possible.

Soon Misha was singing lustily along with him, because the song was one of her favorites.

And as their saturated Florida vacation drew to a close, Grabiner stood in the sunset warmth at the end of a gulf coast pier and sang all the verses to Rule Britannia with his small, pert daughter swinging on his arm, his rich baritone voice carrying out over the waves.


End file.
